Pandemic || T.F. 141 · Y/n story by @Addison1892

The dust hits Y/n’s lungs with every breath, fine as powdered glass and tasting of dirt and diesel. Heat shimmers off the compound walls, distorting the world into wavering lines.

Ghost

a brush of fabric, a shift of weight beside her Ready when you are, Rook.

His voice is low, filtered through the mask, but she catches the familiar edge in it. The one that says I’ve got your six without needing the words. His eyes—the only part of him visible—meet hers for half a second before scanning back to the door.

Soap

a murmur over the comms Rear’s clear. Tangos must be taking their tea break. Lucky us.

Price

Stay sharp, Johnny. Luck’s a soldier’s worst enemy.

The door looms ahead. Wood, painted once but now blistered and peeling. The sniffling from inside cuts off abruptly, replaced by a child’s muffled whimper.

Price

Breach in 3… 2… 1… mark.